


Know Your Bible

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Gay Bashing, Humor, M/M, Politics, Religion, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 23:44:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/349623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know how they say not to talk about sex, religion, or politics at the dinner table?  Whoops!  Zach, Chris, and God.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Know Your Bible

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's pretty clear I needed to vent, lol. This whole thing is proof that I spent too much time on NPR forums. Features cameos by bb!Zach and highschool!Zach as well as a generous helping of philosophizing.

**Title:** Know Your Bible  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairing:** Zach/Chris  
 **Author's Notes:** I think it's pretty clear I needed to vent, lol. This whole thing is proof that I spent too much time on NPR forums. Features cameos by bb!Zach and highschool!Zach as well as a generous helping of philosophizing.  
 **Summary:** You know how they say not to talk about sex, religion, or politics at the dinner table? Whoops! Zach, Chris, and God.

 

 

Fifth grade was turning out to be a bust. Zach had hoped that moving up to middle school would bring with it a sense of accomplishment and some automatically bestowed maturity.

Most of his peers didn't spend their days striving towards maturity, but Zach had always felt more comfortable with adults. At least, the ones who would listen to him when he had a point to make. Adults had _opinions_ and _knowledge_ and would debate with you or explain things to you that you hadn't known about before. He wanted to be old enough to do the explaining. He wanted to be at the point where _everyone_ would take him seriously, not just blood relatives.

Anyway the point was that he didn't feel like fifth grade had given him much opportunity for growth. He was bored in most classes, and his mom said it was because of the overlap you got when you didn't follow the public school system from elementary and upward. She told him to just read ahead and learn as much as he could.

"Know your Bible," said his religion teacher.

In fact Zach's teachers had always stressed the importance of this—it was a phrase uttered with as much frequency as 'Wash your hands' or 'Say the magic words' so he figured it had to be important.

Zach was going to know his Bible.

He stowed a copy in his backpack and pulled it out during the next mindless English class. It was one of those tiny versions that had come in a giftbag from last summer's Bible camp along with a plastic rosary and some pencils with terrible erasers, but more importantly it was easy to conceal between his Fraggle Rock trapper keeper and studiously open textbook.

The first couple of chapters weren't bad, probably because he'd heard them referenced in church, and he actually found the strange stilted speech rather intriguing. It reminded him of poetry he'd encountered, like when they did the Odyssey for the 4th grade play and he'd made his mom read the actual thing to him.

The words themselves weren't complicated, and he wondered if this was really all there was to knowing the Bible—people always made it sound like such a feat, and I mean, didn't priests and nuns go to that school in the alps just to learn about it?

As if in response to his flippancy, Zach soon stumbled upon an inexplicable list of names that went on for so long he was about ready to throw in the towel, but thankfully things did clear up into actual sentences again. He was quite proud of himself for getting the hang of this so easily—I mean, soon he'd be able to talk to adults about this stuff, too. He was practically a theologian (which was a word he'd looked up in a gigantic dictionary during home room and felt described him perfectly).

Then came the bits about Moses and the Pharaoh, which he also really enjoyed because, again, they watched that movie on TV like every year at Easter.

But _then_ came Leviticus. And _sex_. And Zach gasped so loudly at seeing the word proliferating the oh-so-holy page in front of him that Sister Constance made him read the next paragraph of James and the Giant Peach aloud.

*

"Mom," Zach says politely, folding his arms on the dinner table. "I was reading something today, and I just had a question."

Joe rolls his eyes and chugs a glass of milk like it's a contest to finish first.

Mom pries the glass away from him. "You're going to spill again, Joey." She turns back to Zach, beams. "I'm sorry, dear. You were saying?"

"What's 'abba-nation'?" He feels a little smug about this new piece of vocabulary in his repertoire.

Mom peers at him. "A sad chapter in American history?" She looks concerned.

Joe just looks annoyed. He's probably super jealous of Zach's Biblical prowess.

*

"Okay, boys, have fun at school!"

"Mom," Zach says significantly.

"Yes, dear?"

" _Mom_. You are _not_ going out like that."

She only laughs.

Joe grabs the strap of Zach's backpack and tries to pull him out the door. "Come _on_ , Zach, we're gonna be late, jeez . . ."

Zach fends him off valiantly, but ends up being dragged down the sidewalk. "Mom, I'm serious! Look, don't you have like a skirt or something?" Doesn't she realize how dire the situation is?

She waves after them. "Be good!"

*

"What do you mean, you're not hungry, Zachary? Shrimp is your favorite!"

"Oh my _gosh_ , Mom, I'm just not hungry. " He glances around the dinner table for an out. "Joe can have mine! You're always saying we should share more." Zach gives his most winning smile. Joe spares a minute to snort before snagging the shrimp out from under his nose.

Mom just frowns. She can tell something's up. "Fine. But I don't want to hear any whining when you change your mind about it later. Do you want something else instead? I think I have some bacon I was saving for your breakfast."

"Ooh, yeah that sounds—wait. What exactly _is_ bacon, anyway?"

"Well. Pork." Oh is she ever eyeing him. "Why?"

Zach's eyes widen. "No, ah. No thanks, Mom. I'll just have some more . . ." And he has to brace himself. ". . . broccoli."

*

"Zachary," Mom says from the doorway. "Exactly what are you doing?"

Zach frowns, puts the scissors down on his nightstand. "I don't think the badge on my uniform is the same, uh—" He pulls out the tag and squints at it. "—poly-ether nylon as my shirt is."

Mom raises her eyebrows.

"It's an abba-nation," Zach explains patiently. Seriously, she called herself a grown-up? "It's _in_ the Bible."

"Honey . . ." She sits next to him on his bed. "I'm impressed that you're getting to know the Bible outside of Sunday school, but I'm worried you won't understand everything in it." Zach bristles at this. "It's a very advanced book, Zachary. I know you—"

"I can read it just fine. I've known how to read for _forever_ , Mom, gosh . . ."

"That's not what I mean, I—" She gets a good look at Zach's determination and stops. "I just want to make sure you don't take it too seriously. It isn't for us to judge what's right and wrong, especially not based on a book that was written such a long time ago . . ."

"More long ago than Star Wars?" Zach scoffs.

"Even longer than that!" Mom says, to which Zach is dumbstruck. "Zachary, I just want you to know that God made you so you _know_ deep down what right and wrong are. Never take somebody else's word for it, even if they say it's the word of God. You'll know in your heart what God is."

"And . . . I just wanna make sure, okay? Is it okay to eat shrimp or not? 'Cause, Mom, I really really like shrimp."

"It's totally okay to eat shrimp," she assures.

*

Thomas scootches into a more secure position on the shady stone wall they've perched on across from the museum. It's spring and the fountains there are a tranquil backdrop to their conversation.

He's light-haired and blue-eyed and Irish, like most of Zach's friends. Probably because Central Catholic is divided pretty evenly between Irish kids, Italian kids, and forced-to-go-in-lieu-of-a-public-school kids. The same could be said for Pittsburgh at large, really.

"I don't think that's strictly true, actually," Zach is saying.

"So what, you're the big AIDS expert, now?" Thomas laughs. He has such a nice laugh. Zach wonders why he hangs out with _him_ while they wait an hour for the bus home, with his tie loosed and shirt untucked in rebellion. Thomas is a bit of a badass, in private school terms, and he probably only waited with Zach-the-theater-geek because he lived out on the Parkway West, too, but Zach really hoped it was more than that.

"No seriously, it's not just fags," Zach continues. "It's anybody who's exchanged blood or sexual fluids without clean needles or using condoms or whatever. It's anybody who's promiscuous and like heroin addicts and shit. Dude, do you even _listen_ in Health?"

"Uh, no." Thomas grins bluely. Zach grins back. "I dunno, man . . . it sounds like a sign from God. Trying to wipe out the sinners. He does that a lot. Like with Sodom and Gomorrah—they were a bunch of fags, so God made them go kaboom."

"Your penchant for using such prodigious terminology as 'kaboom' is just stunningly impressive, you know that?"

Thomas laughs, then pulls a face. "Wait, what?"

Zach deflates. "Never mind."

"Anyway, look. If we aren't gonna tell these freaks that they're hell-bound, then who is? It's our obligation as Christians. It's pretty clear that they don't even know what the word of God is."

Something about the way he phrases that gives Zach pause. "I mean, yeah, sure, it's not like I'm happy about these homos running around spreading diseases, but like . . . I dunno, they know that it's wrong, right? It's not really for us to pass judgment. Isn't God supposed to take care of that?"

Thomas nods. "Yeah, I guess. But I mean, it's just disgusting, you know?"

"Well yeah. Duh." Suddenly Thomas's light hair and blue eyes and nice laugh aren't such a selling point.

*

Zach doesn't often happen upon someone who's interested in religious debate, anymore. It _is_ LA. Still, when some creepy-eyed chick who identifies herself as Delilah engages him at a purposeless industry event, Zach is perfectly willing.

Zach laughs. "So you're a literalist, is that it? Suit yourself."

"God said—"

"Those who God spoke through said," he corrects. "And wrote it in Hebrew. And had it censored and translated and edited and retranslated and eventually presented to the general public for consumption through the filter of whatever the cleric felt like highlighting that Sunday." She's frowning. "Do continue."

"It's very plain," Delilah says, speaking slowly like she's trying to explain it to a child. "God destroyed the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah because of their residents' wickedness."

"True nuff."

"This is clearly illustrated by the homosexual lusts of the sinners that came to Lot's house."

"False."

"Look," she laughs. "I know my Bible, and—"

"Listen lady," Zach laughs right back. "I went to Catholic school. I know the scripture inside out. And from what I can tell, it's more that God doesn't endorse super frivolous sexual relationships or, obviously, the rampant rape, debauchery, and general awfulness that presided in Sodom and Gomorrah. I'm also pretty sure he had a lot to say about the importance of love and commitment."

"Nevertheless," Delilah deflects, or rather, ignores completely, "I'm sorry, but I'm not going to be unfairly persecuted for following my own religious convictions. It's my _right_ to follow my religious beliefs, and they happen to dictate that homosexuality is immoral. I'm allowed to have an opinion on that, and I'm allowed to express it."

"Ah yes, I do see your point there. So, 9/11—totally excusable in your view, right?"

Horror dawns on her, and Zach is terribly pleased with himself. "I _beg_ your—"

"I mean, my dear Deliah, you . . . you aren't actually about to hold them _accountable_ for murdering innocent people? You _do_ know it was their _religious convictions_ that led them to _express_ themselves." He gets as wide-eyed and innocent as he thinks he can get away with.

You could practically see the cross-wired logic in her brain start to short circuit. "God—"

"Your God," Zach clarifies. "Not my God."

"In any case, the homosexual lifestyle is offensive to me, personally, and I don't need to have it shoved in my face all the time just because other people are accepting of it."

"Has it ever occurred to you that _your_ lifestyle is offensive to me? Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe, just maybe, _you're_ in the wrong? I mean, does God speak to you directly or something? Personally, I find people like you a disgrace to real Christianity—i.e., you know, following the teachings of Christ, not the semantics of the Old Testament."

"It's not my place to judge." Delilah says this like she's being truly magnanimous. "But you'd better believe that God _will_."

"Oh, I'd better," Zach says sarcastically. She doesn’t seem to register his tone, though.

"I _support_ equal rights for homosexuals!" she says, the very picture of the wrongly accused. "But that doesn't mean that I have to support gay marriage."

". . ."

*

"Oh, okay," Chris says after Zach tells him. "Hey, if I get an appetizer will you split with me? They've got onions rings! Ooh, look at the picture." Chris thrusts the plastic menu in Zach's face.

"Uh."

And now Chris is laughing at him. "What's with the face?"

"Nothing. It's just . . . don't take this the wrong way, but, like, you aren't having a Reaction to this."

Chris is now sporting a wtf face of his very own. "Who the fuck do you keep company with? _Jesus_ . . ."

"No, I know, I didn't really mean . . . " Zach shakes his head. "People usually have a Reaction, even liberal commie Hollywood Jews. Or whatever. I mean, I know Hollywood is land of the free and home of the gay, but people still have Reactions. They'll put on their Acceptance face and then it feels like they don't completely see you as a person again right away, and you feel like a big walking symbol for awhile."

Chris raises his eyebrows. "Again—these are your friends we're talking about? If so, you've really gotta raise your standards. I mean, I know you wanna be social and friendly but jeez, come on."

Zach nods, turns his water glass around on its coaster absently. "Thanks for _not_ having a Reaction, though. It's refreshing. And I hope you won't flip out if I ask you this but, uh, what exactly is your deal anyway? I've always just sort of assumed that you're straight, but—"

Chris shrugs. "I try not to label myself. I've had sex with a few guys. You know how it is, that experimental college phase . . ." His creeping grin makes it impossible to gauge his sincerity. "Quite honestly I think it's just as weird to ask people about their sexuality as it is to ask for like explicit details on whatever sexual acts they perform. Sometimes, when somebody goes around asking about a person's sexuality all invasively or whatever I'll just be like, 'So, tell me, miss—do you prefer missionary or doggy style? And I've got a follow up question: what is your stance on blowjobs? How about cumshots?' "

"I'm . . . truly shocked that you don't pick up more women."

"Me. _Too_!" Chris shakes his head. "God only knows what the problem is, there, man."

They touch on other topics for the rest of the meal, but by the time they're buckled up in the safety of darkness in Chris's car, Zach says: "Do you think your lack of reaction to my spectacular gayness has to do with, you know, my already spectacular gayness or, like, you not being particularly religious? I don't mean to sound like judgmental or something but I'm just still mulling this over . . ."

"No worries." Zach can hear the smile in his voice, glimpses it in a shock of streetlight. "I dunno, I just grew up without much religious direction, so I had to sort of decide what was innately moral on my own. I'm not saying my parents just let me run amok and never taught me about right and wrong or something, but like . . ." Chris is gesturing randomly in an attempt to get his point across. It doesn't seem to be working. "I think when you don't have an institution like a religion, or some cultural or family expectation of how you're supposed to be, well, at least for me, I just sort of let what feels right guide me. I certainly don't think of it in terms of, 'Oh well I'm down with homosexuality, _despite_ the Bible'. I don't really give any of those rules that people create for themselves any credence and try to just go by gut feeling, so . . ." He spares a moment of watching the road to grin over at Zach. "Any questions on today's lecture?"

"Uh, _yes_ , Professor Pine," Zach says. "Can ten dollar words be exchanged for extra credit, or would you just prefer sexual favors?"

"Professor Pine," Chris snorts. "Sounds like a Clue character."

"And let's not forget his partner in crime, Dr Zachary Quinto."

"Yeeep. They did it with the spork in the closet—ohh yeah, _you_ know what I'm talking about . . ."

". . . Again, _shocking_ you don't get more dates."

*

The next day, Zach gets a string of texts on the freeway, unlocks his phone and reads them once the traffic grinds to a halt.

> Zach there's something I've gotta tell u

> Im mostly straight

> I know I know. Believe me Im just as shocked as u r

> Im asking u not to be Hetero phobic about this. Just know that this doesn't change anything between us and I still love u in a mostly straight way

> Also do u want to get food with John and I before rehearsal at like one

> *

> Zach still expects dinosaurs and Steelers statues.

> Airports were usually a solitary experience for Zach, fraught with fast food and mindless magazines and incessant anxiety about whether or not his flight was canceled. This time, the gate was clogged with the crew of the rebooted Enterprise.

> "Hey," Chris says, surprise of his grainy voice as he sits down next to Zach and sticks his ticket between Zach's face and a beat up copy of The Power and the Glory. "I'm 2C, where are you?"

> "Ummm, 2B I think?" He pries his ticket out of the pages of the book and pushes his glasses up, the better to focus. "Yeah. But I promised Karl I'd switch with him 'cause he gets motion sick . . ."

> " 'Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee'," Chris whines. " 'For whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge' . . . wink wink, nudge nudge."

> "Um. 'Kay?" Zach closes his book, no matter that he's just lost his place because I mean, Chris is here, now. "But I think we both know that this will invoke the wrath of Karl."

> "Psh. We can handle it." Chris glances over in Karl's direction nervously. God only knew what he'd get up to while they were sleeping.

> It strikes Zach that he doesn't often see Chris in profile like this. His nose has a weird elegance that gives personality to his face. And this could just be listless hours of indulging in the Sims talking, or maybe some subconscious self defense mechanism to excuse the, er, _presence_ of his own nose, but . . . it's what anchors Chris's face, his _look_. Keeps him from being too much of a pretty boy and its uniqueness to him is what makes Zach's brain stutter, even more than sly teasing glances or compromising positions on set or on planes or squished in the backseat of someone's car.

> Once they're onboard and Chris's puppy dog look has coerced him into switching seats ('So I can _see_!'), Chris leans over Zach's shoulder to say, "That has got to be the douchiest phone I've ever seen. It's like you're holding a gold bar up to your ear, dude."

> "Shut up, I'm trying to check my messages before the stewardess comes around."

> "You mean the flight attendant? Fuck you are sexist." Chris retreats from Zach's personal space, leaves him oddly cold. "Anyway it's too late for that, they made the announcement. You trying to crash this thing or what?"

> Zach presses 7 rapidly until his phone finally heeds him, then shuts it off and turns to Chris. "Yes, Chris. I'm trying to crash the plane. Why don't we just keep our phones on and text dirty messages to each other to keep ourselves entertained over the Pacific? _That_ sounds like a brilliant idea."

> They play hangman in the superfluous notes section of Chris's day planner for an hour before retreating to their respective iPods and dozing off. Poker Face blasts Zach awake at one point, and when his eyes slam open he's met with the sight of Chris curled up on his side with an utterly guileless expression and his arm trapping Zach's on the armrest. He smelled like that stale coffee smell you get from a long since emptied cup, sweet with an edge of bitterness and composed of memory. Zach figures he'd better not wake him, skips to the next song but has trouble sinking back into sleep.

> Of course they're roused unceremoniously for 'lunch'. The person across the aisle from them orders the fish, and that sparks a conversation about Fridays and the relative importance of the Bible's dietary restrictions. Chris just makes a face and sticks his earbuds back in.

> "It's right there in Leviticus," David, 2D, is saying. "Homosexuality is an abomination."

> He says it meaningfully, making assumptions about him, but Zach isn't offended. He relishes the opportunity to talk about this stuff when he knows he can well and truly best his opponent.

> Zach laughs. "Do you even know what 'abomination' means in the context of that culture? The Greeks engaged in same-sex practices, um, hello, but they were also idol worshippers, so that's an abomination. Anything that isn't procreation goes against the preservation of the tribe, and is therefore an 'abomination'. That's why Old Testament God is totally down with slavery, both when it comes to actual slaves and, you know, the enslavement of women to men. In fact, the Bible has been used an awful lot to justify racism and sexism, so . . . I guess I'm just not sure how using it to justify another wave of discrimination without actually reading into the text any further is _actually_ different."

> "It's right there in the book," David says staunchly. "It's an abomination. I can't make it much clearer than that."

> Zach pretends to consider this stunning revelation. "You know, when hate and exclusion are a part of your religious beliefs, then I think you need to reexamine your 'religion'. Just saying."

> "I mean, you've gotta know your Bible . . ."

> "You've actually read it, have you? The _entire_ Bible?"

> "Uh, I go to _church_."

> " . . . Oh, I'm sorry, was that your argument?"

> Chris snickers from beside him. A bit later, after David, 2D, is righteously engrossed in the in-flight movie, Chris leans over Zach's shoulder to stare at his book again. "I'll never understand how you put up with these dickheads. 'Hate is a lack of imagination'."

> Zach shrugs. " 'People who like quotes love meaningless generalizations'."

> "Shut up."

> "Don’t hate the playa, hate the game," Zach says nonchalantly. "Anyway I’ve gotta stash a few little gems like that in my arsenal if I'm to keep company with Captain Literary Slut."

> *

> Zach doesn't need to be in the same city as Chris to do the proper friendship maintenance. And it's a good thing too, what with the way their careers skyrocket after Star Trek. How the fuck did people even keep legit friends before the internet and smartphones, anyway?

> At the core of their relationship is frivolous debate, little word-games, and the quest to keep up with each other's wit, so texting doesn't feel like a poor substitute for something else—in fact, it's better because you can always look back on your conversations for reference if, for instance, you need to make Chris Pine choke on his own poorly chosen words.

> Sure, they saw each other occasionally, but over time even that begins to feel like an obligation. It's distracting to be in Chris's presence because of all the physical things that require your attention—reacting properly to tones of voice and dealing with awkward pauses and could they just get back to texting and _real_ conversation, please?

> *

> >   
> 
>> 
>> **So I'm thinking of coming out**   
> 

> >   
> **Thoughts?**   
> 

> >   
> **I'm talking about my spectacular gayness btw**   
> 

> > Lol why now

> >   
> 
>> 
>> **Check ur email**   
> 

> > Oh

> > Fuck

> > U want advice or something

> >   
> 
>> 
>> **Sort of**   
> 

> >   
> **You gonna be in LA like Tues or we'd?**   
> 

> >   
> **Wednesday**   
> 

> > Lol

> > I swear u know my schedule better than I do

> > *

> > "So let me get this straight," Chris says. "You want me to, what, pretend to be some kind of Giuliana Rancic approximation in order to prepare you for stupid questions down the road?"

> > Zach nods.

> > "Okay, well, first of all, you totally don't need it—you're the most eloquent person I've ever met and sometimes I'm convinced that you are in fact Oscar Wilde. Second of all, I am not nearly anorexic enough to pass for Giuliana, although I'm not gonna lie, I have no qualms about donning some slutty couture for the occasion."

> > " _That_ I'd like to see."

> > "I bet you would," Chris leers. "I mean, just how big is this coming out party gonna be, anyway? Are we talking the cover of People or what?"

> > Zach rolls his eyes. "No, jeez. Come on. It's just that I'm gonna be doing more interviews now with Margin Call just around the corner, and you know, they're bound to ask me about like Angels in America stuff anyway, and in light of this recent bullshit . . . I dunno, I just want to be able to not censor myself if the opportunity arises."

> > Chris laughs. "I mean, I respect your noble crusade for everyone being able to tell the truth and everything but I don't think we can ever be completely uncensored if we wanna keep getting work. Then again the Shat seems to be doing pretty well for himself." He studies Zach for a long moment, amused in the voice but serious in the eyes. His eyes are much bluer than Zach remembers, and stupidly beautiful. "Yeah, okay. But dude, do you think I should wear like a simple draped gown or maybe something with a diamond-encrusted bustier or what?"

> > *

> > Chris doesn't actually put on a dress, more's the pity. He is, however, having a little too much fun in his role as a hapless homophobic interviewer.

> > "But, but . . . it's a sin!" Chris gapes, eyes bulging ridiculously.

> > "Okay, sure, but are you saying that in persecuting another sin you can vindicate hate? Are you saying that just because you've classified an expression of love that you personally are afraid of as 'sinful' that that really entitles you to engage in other sins?"

> > "But, come on, man, it's just _icky_. How can you let yourself be emasculated like that?"

> > "Pre-tty sure I'm still a man," Zach says. "You can check if you want," he adds with a wink.

> > "Heh. Just because I'm some narrow-minded bigot with a relentless hatred for the gays doesn't mean I'm actually just repressing my own homosexual tendencies." He gives Zach a slow once-over and licks his lips unsubtly. Zach has this anxious feeling in his chest like he wants to laugh. Or something. "It toootally doesn't."

> > "Okay, so. If I'm not really gay, if it's really a choice, then why the hell would I choose to feel like this in such an unforgiving society?"

> > Chris huffs. "Beats me. Because you're sexually depraved and godless, I'd imagine. I mean, even just sitting here I'm uncomfortable, what with you surely lusting over me in the wake of my manly charms."

> > "Just because I'm gay and you're a dude doesn't mean I automatically wanna jump you."

> > "Now I just find that hard to believe. Gurl, _look_ at this body!" Chris's gestures exceed the speed limit. "I work—"

> > "Get over yourself."

> > "I mean, don't you even _care_ that you make me feel funny inside?" As always, it's hard to tell precisely how serious Chris is being when he affects this silly 'I am telling a joke' persona, and Zach's not about to risk misinterpreting.

> > "You know," he says, looking off the side and away from Chris so he can think, "whenever people need to have a group to outcast and focus their hatred on in order to have a connection with one another, well, I'm just gonna go out on a limb and say that that's not a genuine sense of kinship." Zach pauses. "Okay, I think I'm done."

> > Chris heaves a sigh, eyes alight and fastened on Zach. "Now that you've got _that_ out of your system . . ."

> > Zach laughs. "Shut up, dude."

> > "I mean, whatever, you wanna engage in a philosophical debate over the merits of Twitter next, I'm down, and I will obviously prevail. But you're gonna have to take it easy on those poor saps who end up on the other end of your homosexual rebuttal. Just saying."

> > *

> > Chris shows up at his door a couple of days after Zach bites the bullet and lets it slip as casually as he can.

> > "Well, _I_ could tell you were nervous in those interviews," Chris tells him, but he looks more concerned than he's ever looked. "But you had enough ridiculously educated-sounding buzzwords that I doubt if many other people noticed it." He's tapping his foot, now. "I just. Do you want a hug?"

> > Zach laughs, holds out his arms. Chris smashes his body into Zach's so quickly that it knocks the wind out of him. "Woah, dude. You sure you're not the one who needed a hug?"

> > "No." And it happens in a blur of motion and a snapshot of Chris's eyes closing that Chris kisses him. Zach isn't about to miss an opportunity to kiss back, hold him ever closer and shiver at the fact of Chris's lips grazing over his so softly.

> > "I'm-sorry-if-I've-been-taking-this-too-lightly," Chris gasps.

> > Zach laughs, looks from Chris's wet mouth to his eyes to his mouth again and has to swallow. "What the hell, no, you're good. It's nice to have someone who doesn't treat me with kid gloves. Or differently or whatever. You, uh, you just like . . . get . . . me? And that sounded so stupid I can't even—"

> > Chris shakes his head, leans in to kiss him again, more slowly and more consciously, this time.

> > When they part at last Zach blurts: "Just. Why would you want _me_?" The panic of hope is threatening to engulf him.

> > Chris grins. "It's not exactly a choice, Zach. It's not like I sat down one day and said, oh, I'm attracted to Zachary Quinto. I just am."

> > "I swear if you say you were 'born that way' . . ."

> > " 'God makes no mistakes', Zach," Chris says sagely.

> > "Heh. So . . . what now? Do you want me to, like, have my way with you on the kitchen counter or something?"

> > Chris laughs, but he also turns a spectacular shade of red. "Not this instant. Don't you wanna wine and dine me?"

> > "We've been wining and dining each other for years, but yeah, sure."

> > "I must say I'm floored by the enthusiasm there, Zach."

> > *

> > "So this is weird."

> > "Totally isn't. Are you done with the ketchup or what?"

> > Chris sighs and hands it over. "You know, I really did expect something fancier than _this_ . . ."

> > "So, Chris," Zach says politely, folds his arms on the table in an attempt to be businesslike. "Got a question for you: God. What's your stance?"

> > Chris's eyebrows climb. "Pardon?"

> > "You say you're agnostic, right? Just, like, how spiritual are you, anyway?"

> > Chris considers, munches a French fry consideringly like it's some spiffy hors d'oeuvre. "I dunno. I mean, that's kind of what agnostic means, isn't it? 'I don't know'."

> > "Yeah, but, I mean—"

> > "Okay, okay. No, I. I just don't like to be beholden to one doctrine or another. I don't like the idea of having to defend whatever brand of religion I choose, like jeez, I mean, look at you and the Bible. That's the stuff I hate. I like to just go by what I know is right, just intuitively. And I know that sounds like hedonism or whatever, but I really do believe that morality is a built in thing. You just have to listen to what you're feeling, and everything falls into place, and . . . Zach, what's with the face?"

> > Zach doesn't say anything, just twines his foot around Chris's under the table.

> > The rest of Operation: First Date goes swimmingly. That is, until they step outside and Zach has to hold Chris back from taking a swing at a paparazzo. Zach somehow manages to whisk him away to safety before the guy can snap a picture, and if that isn't a miracle then he doesn’t know what is.

> > "I can't fucking deal with this shit, man, I'm fucking serious," Chris says on the other side of some shrubbery, probably at too loud a volume to keep their whereabouts secret for very long. "Sometimes I don't think it's worth it just to get paid to play pretend. In fact, I know it's not."

> > "You really need to chill," Zach says. He hates that Chris gets so frustrated about this. Hates that he can't fix it.

> > "It's not okay, though. I mean I'm not like ashamed or something, but I just know that now? Whenever you get photographed with _any_ other guys it'll be instant speculation and that sucks and it's so fucking invasive, and it's just not fucking fair, I mean, I know, the woes of celebrity, but just . . . . you don't need that shit, dude."

> > Zach knows it's a terrible idea, but the fact that Chris cares about what a terrible idea it is is what makes him yank Chris in by his tie and kiss him for a minute in the shadows on the sidewalk. He thinks that Chris kissing him back even with paparazzi on the prowl is probably a miracle, too.

> > *

> > The approach of the Star Trek sequel is like an unofficial countdown. It's this weird unspoken accord that they've got to actually have sex before filming. Text messages and speed-dating between events just aren't cutting it anymore.

> > They keep attempting to do the deed, but somehow making out on Zach's couch always ends with them falling asleep, too fucking tired after long days of strengthening their core. Well, that's what their trainer calls it, but Zach suspects it's more about making their arms shapely enough to be noticeable through impending Starfleet spandex. And of course it's hot, working out with Chris and seeing him sweat with fucked up hair and eyes glazed over with effort, but as soon they do get somewhere private and Zach has the idea to relieve him of his sinfully tight jeans, the new Jersey Shore comes on or something, and then they'll just drink and veg and Noah will vie for their affections and Chris might say something like 'Not in front of the kids!' when Zach kisses him horizontal on the couch.

> > There are mere _days_ before filming starts, and then they'll really have no time or energy, and God knew that Chris in Captain Sexy Pants mode wasn't going to help matters.

> > *

> > Zach is prepared when Chris shows up on Zach's doorstep that night. But for some reason Chris is looking at him like he's a freak of nature, which is quite possibly because of his newly, er, _styled_ eyebrows.

> > "Zach?" Chris says, eyes narrowing. "That _is_ you, right?"

> > "Oh screw you do I really look _that_ different with the Spock treatment I mean I thought that did it for you anyway and have I mentioned your Lance Bass frosted tips lately oh shit sorry I'm being simply a terrible host aren't I haha do come inside how was your _day_?"

> > Chris nods slowly and steps across the threshold. "Exactly how many Red Bulls did you . . . ?"

> > "What does it matter really Chris what does it matter I ask you I mean screw this honestly it's ridiculous you look ridiculously good just come _here_ already come _on_."

> > Chris leans close, probably to shut him up, and then there's a kiss that veers rather quickly into desperation. And yeah, Chris is kind of mind-blowingly hot, but over time Zach has focused less on the penetrating eyes and generous mouth and fantastically sculpted backside and concentrated instead on the acne scars on his jaw, the mole by his ear, the way he's always gesturing fruitlessly and can never think of the right word.

> > I mean, that ass doesn't _hurt_ . . .

> > "But Zach," Chris says, teasingly, damply. "I'm just so _tired_ . . ."

> > "I'ma _wake you up_ dude don't you even worry about it mpff God you feel even better than you look."

> > "Shut _up_ ," Chris laughs, runs his hands up Zach's arms and licks his lips. "And don't stop."

> > Zach doesn't stop. Zach undoes the buttons of Chris's shirt and lets his mouth follow in their wake, leaves sucking kisses down his chest and strays to lick at a nipple for good measure. Chris makes a lovely noise at that, and Zach gets him against the door to press a thigh between his and kiss him some more, let his hands fill up with Chris's writhing body.

> > "Mm yeah," Chris murmurs between lingering lips, "just hold me down, _fuck_ this is hot . . ."

> > "Ohshit," Zach says, suddenly panicking, "is this too fast?" He can't quite catch his breath at reality, right now.

> > Chris laughs, awfully breathless himself. "We've been _not_ doing this for way too long."

> > "Well, yeah, I . . . like, how long, though?"

> > " _Too long_ , Zach." Chris trails kisses along Zach's cheek to his temple before speaking into his ear: "So don't fucking stop."

> > "Ngk," Zach says, turns his head to kiss him properly for a bright tremulous moment. " 'I had to touch you with my hands. I had to taste you with my tongue; one can't love and do nothing'."

> > "Oh my _God_ , how much fucking Graham Greene do you read?" But he sounds more enraptured than annoyed.

> > "See," Zach says triumphantly. "Literary slut."

> > Zach goes to kiss him again, pulls Chris's shirt the rest of the way off and lets Chris push Zach's awkwardly over his head, gasps at the touch of Chris's mouth at random over shoulders and jaw and brushing lightly over stubble.

> > Just as good as the slippery sudden deepening of the kiss are the tiny sounds Chris makes into it. And Zach starts to sweat at the idea of making Chris's soft utterances louder and less controlled and, most importantly, all because of him.

> > Zach can't be sure whether it's the caffeinated high or the pent up lust or some dangerous combination of the two, but he is suddenly completely uninterested in kissing and wholeheartedly committed to making Chris come ASAP, so he drags him unceremoniously into the kitchen, grips his arms and touches his kiss seeking mouth while backing him up against the counter.

> > Chris laughs, but his eyes darken and he wraps one insistent leg around Zach's. In fact he seems to be melting at the urging of Zach's hungry hands, but when it comes to the kiss he retains control, licks into Zach's mouth delicately and delves deftly and sucks on Zach's tongue from time to time.

> > The counter is decidedly not amenable to impromptu sex, but this is but small obstacle in the face of shirtless Chris. Zach grinds their hips together, catches Chris's panting lips with his own and gets a little dizzy at the feeling of Chris's hardening cock hot against his. Chris's hands are wide and strong and Zach's heart races at how they tense and release, pull at him and _want_ him . . .

> > Zach's already shaking hands struggle with Chris's fly. Chris laughs and cants his hips up and even licks his lips, _fuck_ . . .

> > Zach succeeds eventually, though, at least enough to vanquish button and zipper and pull Chris's cock out, to relish the way his eyes flutter. Zach strokes him lightly, tracing teasingly up and down, drops to roll Chris's balls between his fingers for a minute and grins at the way Chris clutches at him and gets busy big hands to work on Zach's jeans.

> > "Is this the part where you have your way with me?" Chris says, and he says it low and directly into Zach's ear as his hand wraps around Zach's cock.

> > Zach doesn't answer, spits into his free hand and lets it join the other, kisses Chris while pumping his straining cock and shivering at the feel of Chris's hand on him, too. Chris mirrors Zach's pace wickedly, their mouths magnetized all the while.

> > "Ah shit," Chris says, disjointed words against Zach's chin. " _Shit_. Just like that."

> > "Mm." Zach lavishes kisses on Chris's neck in the hope that it'll keep Chris talking in that delicious tone of voice. "I can't wait to get you on a bed somewhere where we have time and non-artificial energy."

> > Chris seems to approve of that, moans and bucks his hips up as best he can, held fast between Zach and countertop as he is. "Tell me," he breathes more than says.

> > ". . . Uh, any fetishist requests?"

> > Chris laughs, punctuates it with a merciless swipe of his thumb over the head of Zach's cock. "Not particularly. I just like it when you describe stuff or debate or whatever."

> > "You . . . you wanna _debate_?"

> > "No no, never mind, just . . ." He trails his mouth directionlessly around Zach's face before settling on a gentle bite to his lower lip. "Par exemple, whenever you _do_ get me on a bed somewhere, I plan on sucking your dick 'til you can't remember your own name, and after that I'm pretty confident you'll be like putty in my hands, and then I'll fuck you nice and slow and make you want it so much you'll have to beg me for more . . . I'll make you want me more than fucking anything, and I'll make you come so _fucking_ hard, Zach, and mm, God, that's a promise, and _God_ that feels good . . . ohgod come _on_ ah-just-do-it-harder-yes . . ."

> > So Zach jerks Chris's cock harder, has to kiss him to stop him from saying anything too devastatingly hot. Chris moans continuously into Zach's mouth and soon lands on the absolute perfect way to twist his wrist on the upstroke as he tugs on Zach, kisses back with such feeling. Soon Zach is moaning a warning, tenses and shudders and comes mere heartbeats apart from Chris.

> > *

> > Zach totally hadn't fallen asleep once they'd relocated to his bed, it was just that Chris's sudden voice was so loud it had made him jump. And open his eyes again.

> > "Well, I dunno about you, but I'm all sinned out," Chris sighs. He doesn't sound very concerned about this. "Guess we may as well chill here and wait for God to smite us, eh?"

> > Zach meets Chris halfway on his lazy journey to the land of cuddling, gets his arm around him and kisses his hair. "Basically, yeah."

> > Chris laughs, and it reverberates all through Zach like an echo of orgasm. "Thought you were the expert, man."

> > "I am," Zach says, yawning. "God approves."

> > "Oh yeah? You a prophet, now? The Mormons are gonna be _pissed_ . . ."

> > "No, for real," Zach says, watches Chris's face as best he can from this angle. "This feels right. Doing the right thing n'at."

> > Chris doesn't respond at first, just twists in Zach's arms enough to kiss him. "What, like, love thy neighbor?"

> > "Like, love _you_."

> > "Huh." The way Chris's smile unfurls like that feels like a victory. ". . . Thank God."

> > *


End file.
